


Fighting A Losing Battle

by staymagical



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: James can fight, M/M, Mutual Pining, keith is tired, sparing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymagical/pseuds/staymagical
Summary: Even as exhausted as he is, Keith can’t turn down a challenge like James Griffin.James raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve heard it’s supposed to be good for recovery. For the body. That thing called rest.” He pushes off from the door frame, casually slipping his hands into his pockets as he takes a few steps into the room. “You should really try it one of these nights.”Any other time, Keith would revel in the opportunity to swap banter with James, but right now, he’s not in the mood. He’d much rather return to exhausting himself into oblivion to compensate for his failures.He levels James with a deadpan stare and sighs. “What do you want, Griffin?”
Relationships: James Griffin/Keith (Voltron)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 106





	Fighting A Losing Battle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Rare Pair Zine which never actually ended up being published. So here, have my fic
> 
> This isn’t my usual pairing but was quite fun to write, I’ll admit. Hope you all enjoy

Keith is tired. 

No, not just tired.  _ Exhausted _ .

He knows he should be resting, having been released from the medical ward not two days ago with orders to  _ Take it easy, Kogane _ . But he can’t sit idle. Sitting idle means weakness, sitting idle means being unprepared, sitting idle leads to failure and death.

And he can’t fail. Not again.

Train harder, think faster, fight better. Perhaps then he’ll be able to live up to the role he was thrust into. Be the leader they all need him to be.

Keith slashes through a bot before whirling around and stabbing another through the heart with one powerful thrust. He almost got his team killed and the entirety of the planet destroyed because he wasn’t— _ slash _ —good— _ slash _ —enough— _ thrust. _

The remaining three bots dissolve under the bite of his blade leaving just his heavy breathing to fill the empty room.

“Do you ever sleep?”

Keith retracts his blade at the familiar voice before turning toward the training room door, his heart hammering in his throat. 

James is leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, his body loose and casual and maddeningly fit beneath his uniform. Keith schools his features into stoicism under James’ gaze, trying to appear unperturbed by his surprise audience even as his pulse quickens.

“Sometimes,” Keith answers, shifting his weight. “End simulation.” 

James raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve heard it’s supposed to be good for recovery. For the body. That thing called rest.” He pushes off from the door frame, casually slipping his hands into his pockets as he takes a few steps into the room. “You should really try it one of these nights.”

Any other time, Keith would revel in the opportunity to swap banter with James, but right now, he’s not in the mood. He’d much rather return to exhausting himself into oblivion to compensate for his failures. 

He levels James with a deadpan stare and sighs. “What do you want, Griffin?”

James, ever the instigator, just shrugs. “Nothing. Just out taking a late-night stroll and thought you could use a real challenge.” And god, Keith just wants to smack that grin off his face, whether with a fist or other means, he’s not too picky at this moment. Anything will do as long as James stops being so damn distracting.

It’s all part of the game they play. This back and forth, push and pull, head-butting. Keith doesn’t give, and James is an ass. Keith wishes to god he didn’t like it so damn much. 

But he does, and therein lies the problem.

Because James  _ is _ a challenge. An infuriating, pretentious, gorgeous challenge that Keith definitely wants to conquer. With hands that hold and caress and feel rather than hurt. With mouths and hips and legs intertwined, rolling, twisting, bending to the rhythm of each other until they are indiscernible from one another.

Not that Keith will ever tell James that. He won’t give in first, hell no.

And so they play on with no end in sight.

Keith gives a shrug of his own as he throws back a nonchalant, “I don’t think Shiro’s awake at this hour.” He raises an eyebrow for good measure.

James’ grin falters, dimming under the heat of Keith’s slight. But he recovers quickly enough, a chuckle passing parted lips as his eyes blaze into Keith’s heart. 

Keith stifles a shiver.

“Cheeky,” James says, his tone belying his annoyance. He gestures to Keith with a flick of his wrist and a jut of his chin. “Put your fists where your mouth is, team leader.”

Keith raises both his eyebrows.  _ Team leader _ ? James has never once in his life ever called Keith anything besides Kogane. Hell, he hadn’t thought he was capable of any decorum that he couldn’t find in a rule book, and certainly not directed towards Keith. 

Keith flashes his most award-winning shit-eating grin, reserved only for James. “Team leader, huh? Did it pain you to say that?”

He wants to make James squirm. Wants to see him flustered and eat his words, but James is much too composed for that, his confidence smoothing out any rough edges his mistakes may chip out.

“A bit,” James says. He reaches up and starts undoing his jacket, slow and nearly sensual in his movements. Keith grits his teeth, trying for exasperated, but he knows the heat rushing through him is evident on his cheeks. James smirks, finally discarding his jacket into the corner before turning to face Keith across the mat. “But knocking you on your ass will help me get over it.”

“I’m sure it would,” Keith chuckles before adding under his breath, “just like old times.” It’s been years since they swapped punches, and back then, it had been on less friendly terms. And in truth, Keith would love nothing more than to demonstrate his new-found skills and once and for all knock James on his ass. It would be a pleasure.

He sheathes his blade on his belt at the small of his back before unbuckling it all together and laying it aside with care at the edge of the mat. “If you can manage to land a hit.”

Then he faces James across the mat and widens his stance. Waiting.

James ignores the silent invitation, shifting his weight to one foot and giving Keith a scrutinizing once-over. The judgment in that look is like oil on his skin, and Keith bristles with anxiety.

“So, why are you here?” James finally asks, meeting Keith’s gaze. He raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the bandages peeking out from under Keith’s black tee. “Aiming for another stint in the hospital by opening your stitches?”

Keith growls, his frustration mounting. “You want to chit-chat or spar? Pick one.”

James smirks, sinking into a ready stance. “Both,” and he lunges.

Despite his words, James doesn’t say anything for a bit, the sounds of hands meeting flesh and breathes of exertion and grunts of effort filling the room. Keith loses himself in the fight.

But James is not what he expected.

Gone is the bright, wide-eyed new cadet that Keith had witnessed all those years ago, the bumbling fighter that threw wild punches and misplaced kicks at his opponents. Granted Keith hadn’t been much better back then either, but now, James’ confidence has substance, has weight behind it. He’s good. And not just good. He’s trained, dodging and ducking only to hit back hard and fast and accurate. 

It takes Keith by surprise. 

He quickly adjusts and throws himself into the sparring match without holding an ounce of himself back. Everything he learned from Shiro, from the Blades, from his time in space with Voltron and his mom everything. He goes  _ hard _ .

James miraculously holds his own, focused and determined with every block and hit.

It pisses Keith off.

He pushes harder, teeth gritted, punches full force, fast and furious. Though he lands a few, James neatly dodges and blocks the others, giving as much and as good as he takes. Keith’s growing frustration isn’t helping, he knows it, but everything is building up. The guilt gnawing at his bones, all the failures and wrongs whispering in his ears, the universe weighing down on his shoulders. And now this.

If he can’t even take down James fucking Griffin in a simple sparring match, how the hell is he supposed to lead his team to take down the Galra?

Gradually, Keith sinks into his instincts, relying on them heavily as his tumultuous mind clouds his judgment. But he can see James’ focused expression mellow out, how it melts as he watches Keith, until his brow is pinched and his mouth thins into a line.Not in concentration but in something resembling concern. 

Keith stumbles back after a particularly hard jab he just barely manages to dodge. 

“I meant to thank you,” James finally says as Keith aims a hit at his side. He blocks it, returns with an elbow toward Keith’s head. 

Keith ducks, frowning. “For what?”

“My spot at the Garrison,” James says. He throws a few quick punches at Keith’s chest causing Keith to block and give a bit of ground.

Keith chuckles, humorless. “Seems both you and Lance reaped the rewards of me dropping out.” He aims a knee into James' side, making contact. 

James stumbles back, recovering quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, sidestepping James’ quick jab and throwing one of his own. James ducks, rolls and comes up again on the balls of his feet.

And god, Keith has to soothe his racing heart with that move. The smooth, graceful way he fights, his movements flowing into one another like water. It’s something he never would have thought James would exhibit. 

It’s a good look on him. A damn fiery, burning look that sends heat racing up Keith’s neck.

James considers Keith for a second before saying, “Watching you, a kid that came from nothing, being just naturally good at something, is what drove me forward. I learned a lot from you. From your strength. From your determination. And now look at you, leader of the legendary Voltron.” He runs at Keith again, feigning left, going right, and landing an instep kick to Keith’s knee. “I’ve always sort of idolized you.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Keith winces, leg buckling but he manages to keep his footing and retaliates with another knee to James’ open side. James grunts before hitting back harder. Keith barely blocks, and they end up so close Keith can feel James’ warm exhales on his cheek. “I’m a mess. I can barely hold myself together, let alone a team. Clearly I shouldn’t be leading anyone into battle.” He pushes James away, taking a few steps back and throwing his arms wide to encompass their current surroundings. “Hell, I can’t even rest properly.”

And  _ quiznack _ , does he feel those aches and pains now. His body is alight with them, having been pushed well beyond what recovery demands. Keith knows he should stop, call it quits before he does true damage and is forced to take leave in a hospital bed, but his temper is still flaring, guilt warring, and he refuses to sit still. He won’t be weak, not again.

Certainly not in front of James. Especially after what he just admitted.

“You’re doing better than most thrown into such a position,” James says, a bit winded. But he doesn’t pause too long, attacking again. Keith blocks his punch, dips behind and gives a kick to James back. James rolls into it and pops up to face him. “Yeah, the team ended up a little worse for wear after that last battle, but they’re still alive, aren’t they? And we won, so obviously you are doing something right.”

That causes Keith to pause. Sure, he had heard the same from Shiro, from his mom, from the team themselves, but there’s something about those words coming out of his former adversary’s mouth that give them weight. They sink into his skin, soothing the ache that had been building and nurture his waning confidence. 

But James continues on, standing across the mat, his brow a hard line full of conviction and determination. “In fact, I would say that you are the perfect person for the job. You have great instincts, fierce loyalty, and are a natural leader even if you can’t see that.” He waves a hand through the air with a shrug of his shoulders. “And yes, you can be a bit rash and temperamental at times, but you have a great team at your back who balance you out perfectly. You all are quite a force to be reckoned with and that’s all with you at the helm. And us at your backs, of course.”

He nods to Keith, as though that’s all he should need to hear.

And it is. It really is. Keith hadn’t realized how much he had been waiting for these words from James, from the bully he had secretly crushed on from most of his cadet life. The approval, support, and encouragement enough to ease some of the weight that had been dragging him down.

“But don’t let that go to your head,” James tacks on, pointing a finger at Keith. “You’re still an ass.”

Keith chuckles, lighter, steadier. “And you’re still an idiot.”

“You’re filling those shoes better than me right now,” James says with a grin and Keith gives him a deadpan stare.

And then James is attacking again. 

They fall back into the sparring match, trading blows and blocks. This time, Keith feels more stable, grounded and aware of himself. Aware of James.

How close he is, how his hot breath and focused stare sends a tingle across his skin. 

And suddenly, it’s like the fog has lifted from his mind completely. There’s no point in playing this game of theirs anymore. He wants James, and he doesn’t see the point in holding back. For better or for worse, he needs to find out where James stands. Where his heart lies.

But James takes advantage of his momentary distraction to get in close. He sweeps Keith’s legs out from underneath him, following him down onto the mat. They grapple for a few seconds, each trying to gain the upper hand, but James strength overpowers Keith’s stunned surprise, pinning his arms down and limiting all movement.

“Gotcha,” James says all toothy grin and heated stare.

Keith opens his mouth to respond, but it’s cut off as lips meet his own, warm and chapped and a little off-center. For a moment, Keith tenses, his heart a fluttering hummingbird trying to escape the cage of his chest.

James is kissing him.  _ Kissing him. _

It’s unexpected and unprompted, but Keith can’t bring himself to care much. He melts, body loose and pliant as James deepens the kiss, mouths opening and tongues sliding against one another. His skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere James is touching him, everywhere their bodies meet, and he wants more, so much more. More heat, more touches, more delicious weight holding him, more more more until he’s drowning in everything that is James.

And then it all just stops.

The heat on his skin vanishes, the weight disappearing and Keith blinks up at the training room ceiling as his brain tries to catch up with what just happened. For a second, he thinks he imagined everything, that he’s alone and exhausted, and James had never really been there in the first place. 

A rustle of clothing to his right draws Keith’s attention, and he whips his head toward it.

James is by the door, jacket in hand and a flush of red coloring his cheeks as he glances over his shoulder at Keith. “Thanks for the practice, team leader.”

Then he disappears with a quiet  _ whoosh _ of the door.

It takes all of two seconds for Keith to realize what just happened before he is scrambling off the mat and racing through the training room door in hot pursuit of his runaway heart.

James doesn’t get far despite the fast pace he’s set. Keith catches up easily at a jog, his footsteps light and soft in the echoing corridor. He can see the red creeping up the back of James’ neck as he approaches and further evidence of his embarrassment gives Keith just that little extra spur of confidence for what he’s about to do.

“What the hell are you playing at?”

James whirls around at Keith’s angry shout, face flushed and a look of horror and shock pulling at his features to see Keith there.  _ Good _ , Keith thinks, grabbing onto the upper hand eagerly. 

“I know you can be dense sometimes,” James says, shoving his hands back into his pockets and trying to act casual even as his cheeks maintain a deep shade of red. “But you seriously can’t be  _ that _ dense. I think I made it pretty clear back there.”

“Oh, you did,” Keith assures with a nod of his head and a scowl on his face. “Believe me, the message was received loud and clear. But I hadn’t dismissed you just yet, cadet.”

James startles at that, his posture straightening and arm jerking as though to salute in the face of authority he isn’t certain of yet. It’s in his nature, his drive, and Keith can’t help but use it against him. Serves him right after all, for kissing him and then  _ running away _ .

Well, Keith isn’t about to let that stand a moment longer.

With James properly distracted by his own inner conflict, Keith seizes the opportunity and surges forward. He inhales as their lips meet, skipping over sweet and jumping straight into urgent with the kiss, mouth open, tongue seeking entrance as he slides his hands around James’ neck to thread his finger through the soft locks at his nape. 

James tenses for a split second against the onslaught before Keith feels warm fingers curl urgently into the front of his shirt. And then he’s nearly thrown off balance as he’s pulled flush against James’ warm body, one arm snaking around Keith’s waist to hold him still.

But oh no, that still won’t do. Keith had been subjected to James’ control before. Now it’s James’ turn.

Keith breaks the kiss abruptly, pushing out of James’ grasp and taking a step back. James looks dazed where he’s leaning against the wall like he was pulled from the midst of a beautiful dream before he was ready. 

“Now, you are dismissed,” Keith says, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. He points a finger at James’ chest and James’ eyes follow the movement with near childlike wonder in his dazed state. “But I expect to see you back in the training room at nineteen hundred hours tomorrow.”

Then he turns and strides off toward the barracks, his heart rabbiting up his throat and trying desperately not to think about what he just did. This was so far out of his comfort zone but like hell was he going to let James win.

Better to choke with confidence than stay silent and accept defeat.

James seems to shake out of it then and his shout carries down the corridor after Keith, “Nineteen hundred hours? For what?”

Without breaking stride, Keith turns back around to face James and with the last of his waning confidence, winks. 

“Our first date.”

And if Keith has a near panic attack in his room later thinking about what he did, well, James never has to know.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
